


War Is Coming To Storybrooke

by Eilinelithil



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25600168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eilinelithil/pseuds/Eilinelithil
Summary: What happens when parents who love their son very much discover all the hardship he has suffered. A season six 'commentary' of sorts.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Kudos: 13





	War Is Coming To Storybrooke

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the RumbelleShowdown 2020 as Treacle_in_a_chipped_cup. Round 2 entry.
> 
> Prompts: Volunteer, Stay out of it.

They were like the ocean and the shore, coming together and drawing away, closer with the higher tides, and barely touching when the tide was low and the moon pulled them apart. Never more so than now. The gulf between them was like the drawing out of water before a tsunami.

Was that what she was trying to avoid by returning to the shop together?

Together seemed such a strange word after so long and so much strife; so many of the fragile boards of their bridges burned. Had she ever _really_ given him a chance?

She wanted to, but his words washed away her resolve, as raw as she was, and worry and fear got the better of her. She lashed out at him, assigning blame; always assigning blame. She fought to catch a hold of that, of herself. To truly listen, not just to his words, but to the sense _behind_ the words, the _man_ behind them. She tried, through the torrent, the torment, of her own emotions to admit _her_ part in all that had happened, though it was barely enough.

Even as Rumple approached, his every manner an unspoken request for clemency, she kept her arms wrapped around herself, like a shield, but she wondered then if it were against him, or against _herself_ and her own doubting heart. She was churning inside.

* * *

Even the briefest touch, after so long, felt _wrong_ when it should have been so right. Her body language screamed denial, and his heart felt like a stone in his chest, heavy and full of ice and death. He needed to reach her, to _truly_ reach her without guile or motive other than knowing that they needed to work _together_ to save their son, but everything he said seemed to ignite an inferno that neither of them would survive. How _could_ she have been so stupid? How could _he_!

“Rumple, what could happen to our son?”

It was that her voice broke on the question that killed his anger before it could rise, and he shook his head, not knowing how to answer; not even _knowing_ the answer. He had just said it after all. Anything was possible and, knowing his mother, it would only be worse than he could imagine.

He drew breath to speak, to try and give some reassurance, but nothing came. Nothing but the tinkling of the bell above the shop door.

* * *

A sliver of ice ran down Belle’s spine, and she moved closer to Rumple; an instinct that if she’d been clearer of thought might have kindled hope of redemption for them both, but even the feel of his arm around her did nothing to dispel her shock as the tall figure in the robes lowered his hood.

She did not need the greeting to know him. She had seen him in her dreams, but she also felt that this was _not_ her son. Not as she knew him. There was a hard, dark edge to his every countenance, even in the way he spoke the word ‘mother’ to her, until she saw him for the first time, _her_ Gideon, as Rumple asked, “Did she harm you?”

She could _feel_ her son’s pain in that instant, saw through the diamond edge he held around himself like the cloak he wore. His eyes darted everywhere - except to theirs - as he answered.

“It depends what you mean,” Gideon said, clearly half lost in whatever past he’d lived. “She toughened me up.”

The knot tightened in her stomach as he spoke of his past, of his purpose, shaking her head, even took a step closer to him,almost reached for him then, as he explained all that he meant to do, all that he _needed_ to do, but he didn’t even wait for her to speak; simply apparated away, leaving her, and Rumple, in a state of shared worry and shock.

Ironic that the first thing they had shared in months should be the very thing that had torn them apart. It still didn’t mean the wave wouldn’t come crashing over them.

* * *

It had been a long night as he and Belle had talked on what little they knew, what little Gideon had told them, and what _he_ knew of his mother’s dark realm. On one thing they were agreed above all else. They had to find their son before he did something that could not be _un_ done.

He offered to search the woods, feeling less confident in Belle’s plan to enlist the town ‘heroes’ in that search, but he suspected they’d be looking for Gideon anyway, so perhaps it was better that Belle approached them as a volunteer to help them find him, instead of working completely contrary to them. It would, after all, keep them _all_ out of his way.

He found Gideon by the lake, drawn there by a feeling, by a dread he couldn’t shake. His son - so much like _him_ \- both of them shaped by the Black Fairy. He by abandonment, and Gideon… would his son be irredeemable because he’d grown with his mother, been _raised_ by her, to use Gideon’s own words.

No.

No, because if he was, he would strike with the terrible power that Rumple felt gathered at Gideon’s fingertips. He had questioned Gideon, made him question him _self_ and that alone spoke more loudly than the painful sound of his own heartbeat as his blood crawled around his body.

“I can _help_ you, Son,” he appealed.

“I don’t need… your help.”

Rumple sighed, but with relief, though his mind was racing. He gathered unspoken facts, followed the threads of the subtle challenge he’d made, weaving the tapestry and finding the loopholes. There was something they were all missing, and he feared he knew what that was. He couldn’t stay out of it now. He wouldn’t. Not when his son’s soul was at stake.

Taking a breath, tasting the lingering magic in the air where Gideon had apparated, he gathered it to himself and, with a flick of his wrist, followed where Gideon had gone.

“Why are you here?” Gideon growled, pacing. “I told you, I don’t need your help.”

Rumple answered, not with words, but with magic of his own, a barrier spell, a warding, though whether to keep others out, or the two of them _in_ remained unclear. Everything was at war within him, especially the darker impulses he’d tried for _years_ to deny, all for his son. History… repeating, but seeing Gideon, _knowing_ others would harm him if presented even a _fraction_ of a chance - even Belle, well meaning, could do more harm than she could ever imagine - he had to offer their son another way.

“You may not _want_ my help, Gideon,” he said softly, “but you _need_ it. I told you there are things a man learns, and we haven’t much time so…”

He flicked an open hand downward and the swirl of magic in his palm resolved into The Shears of Destiny.

“What’s this?” Gideon frowned, and finally looked up at him.

“This… is the reason,” he began his confession slowly, “that your mother sent you away; the cause of all the years you of torment you suffered at my mother’s hand.” He sighed softly. “But… this is also another way for you to do what you want to do.”

“I don’t _need_ another way, father,” Gideon shook his head. “I told you, once I kill The Savior and take her power, then I can destroy the Black Fairy. We’ll _all_ be free of her.”

“No,” Rumple said quietly. “Because you see… I _know_ what it is you’re keeping from your mother and me. It all makes sense now, and as long as you follow _this_ path you’re on, you’ll _never_ be free, not of her, not of the darkness, not of the _guilt_ you carry inside of you.”

“You know _nothing_ of what I carry!” 

Rumple held his ground, kept his calm as Gideon stepped up to him, the angry hum of dark magic once more rising in his son.

“Not so,” Rumple barely whispered. “You’d be surprised what I know, what I can see and feel. Now, your mother means well, but before too long, she’s going to come bursting through that door with the town heroes at her back, and you won’t have any more time to choose, but here, now, I’m offering you a choice. Take them,” he held out the shears toward Gideon again. “Use them… on me.”

He saw Gideon’s resolve falter. “I… don’t understand. I thought you wanted to use them on me…? To… sever me from my fate, from _this_ fate, to become The Savior in Emma’s place.”

Rumple smiled. “At first, yes. Before you were born I wanted to cut you from it, but the only reason my mother is _using_ you this way - and have no doubt, Son, she is using you - is to get to me, so… remove my fate, you take away whatever it is she thinks she can gain from me.”

“But that doesn’t help the others in her realm, the ones that truly need saving,” Gideon argued.

“No, no it doesn’t,” Rumple agreed. “But once it’s done, _then_ we can - you, me… your mother - all of us, help you to save those people. You’ll still be The Savior you want to be, but without darkening your soul.”

Slowly, too slowly, Rumple knew, because he could _sense_ Zelena’s magic, Gideon reached out to take the shears from him.

He was _so_ close. Another moment and he may have made a difference.

* * *

Though she’d walked away from Rumple after Gideon and Emma fought, though she knew it was not over, she waited for him at the well, hoping he’d come. When he did, and they talked, her confession had felt hollow, even to herself. Even after everything she’d learned, she still thought she could save Gideon by herself - or without Rumple, which wasn’t quite the same - and even without her estranged husband craving of her that they help their son _together_ , she knew that was the only way they could possibly succeed. She had learned where she, and her family stood. She had learned the _hard_ way.

“You heard our son. If we fail, I fear war is coming to Storybrooke,” Rumple said at last.

“No, Rumple,” she began softly, but he interrupted She wasn’t surprised at his response, given everything else.

“Let’s not fight over thi—”

She reached to place a finger to lips, preventing him from speaking.

“It’s not _coming_ , Rumple,” she said. “The first and answering volleys have already been fired and It’s time I stopped… pretending I’m accepted; pretending that none of this is my fault. I gave in to anger and fear when I should have _trusted_ you and then we would have saved him this. All of it. Everyone else too.”

Rumple shook his head. Somehow, she knew, not in denial. “It isn’t up to you to save them from themselves, Belle.” He reached out and took her hand, running his thumb over her naked ring finger beneath her glove. “They made their own choices. They always have. The way they treated us, treated _you_ , was one of them. Now we have to work together to save our son.”

“And we will,” she said, moving to lean against him.

“I promise,” he whispered against the top of her hat.

Together they were like the ocean and the shore, coming together and drawing away, barely touching when the tide was low, and closer with the higher tides when the moon pulled them together, and never more so than now, as the words of Yeats’ _The Stolen Child_ haunted her like the specter of what she had done to their son.

_”For he comes, the human child,_   
_To the waters and the wild_   
_With a faery, hand in hand,_   
_For the world’s more full of weeping_   
_Than he can understand.”_


End file.
